The Girl Who Made the Fire Catch
by Sarah Jo Dantess
Summary: Alleyana Brodsky was the District 6 girl in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. After surviving the first day, Brodsky finds Katniss and Rue and is eventually a large portion of the kindling that sparks the fire in the districts of Panem.
1. The Terror They Feed Us

I am Alleyana Brodsky. I'm seventeen years old. I have blue eyes and red hair that looks like copper. I can build a gun with my own two hands, but nobody knows that.

I have three brothers: two older, one younger, and one sister, younger, who is twin to the younger brother. I live with them, and my mother and father in District 6, who both work in the factories that build Panem's trains. That is where my father learned all that he knows about mechanics, and with that, learned how to manufacture his own weapons before he married my mother, and taught my two older how before I begged him to show me. And now I can assemble it in under four minutes when I have all the supplies. I'd use my gun to take down all the Peacekeepers I ever saw again, but then I'd be in more trouble.

And Alleyana Brodsky doesn't need more trouble right now. Because her name has just been called at the Reaping.

"Alleyana Brodsky?" Adony Bacchus' voice booms across the square. I am frozen and stiff, but somehow I take a deep breath and _step, step, step, step, step_ like a robot to the side from the roped-off section of seventeen-year-olds into the path of rocks all packed together on the ground. My arms remain glued to my sides and I am sure that my trembling is all too evident, but I don't want to appear hysterical. I am going to the Capitol to fight to the death in the Hunger Games. I must appear as strong as I can. I draw myself up to my full height of 5'6.5" and hold my head up, my nose and chin almost sticking up in the air, as though I really am stronger, better than these horrible Capitol people who find nothing so evil with the idea of sending children to their deaths every year so that they can prove how great and undefeated they are. I'll show them.

"Ah, here she is!" Adony's Capitol accent rings, his white smile glinting in the hot sun as much as his glittering sea-green complexion and dark blue wig. I swear, the man always looks as if his meals are about to come right back up. He has been our escort for years and hasn't bothered to change his skin in a while. I wonder if he thought his precious Capitol friends really enjoyed the trendiness of his skin color rather than enjoying the laughter they can have from one look at him. I wonder how much worse he looks up close.

I guess I won't have to wait very long to find out, because two Peacekeepers are behind me and nudging at my elbows to move along. I rip my arms from their grasp and give both of their masked faces the biggest snarl I can manage under such pressure. I cross my arms and say to them sternly, but quietly, "_Don't_ touch me. I can go without your nasty hands on me." I don't care if insulting the Peacekeepers is unacceptable. They can't kill a tribute. Only the other tributes can. With that, I drop my clenched fists and stomp a few steps with the Peacekeepers behind me. I'll always be the first to admit I have a temper. The kids in school made fun of me when I was younger by saying that my temper matched my hair color, but I never let it get to me. Heck, I had brothers. Grow up with them and you never read into what people say too much.

I had brothers. And two of them were running at me. Timo is twenty-one, dark-haired, green-eyed, and the most beautiful person I know, inside and out. Who cares if he was always the roughest athlete in school, built like a machine, and is simply "nice enough" outside our family? He's always been my best big brother, and I can see in his eyes now as he's coming as fast as he can and screaming for me that he would take my place in a heartbeat...were he young enough.

Then there is Hallvor. He looks almost identical to Timo, but less stocky and built, and he is nineteen. He is more outgoing than Timo, and one of the kindest people I know. He never misses a chance to give from his plate to someone who needed it and always sang me to sleep when I was younger and had nightmares, especially about this day. He's a terrible singer, but I never cared. It was always enough to fall asleep to Hallvor's comforting tone. Now he looks as though he needs the singing instead, because I know it's killing him that he is so close to having the freedom to volunteer for me, but is one age away from that freedom.

Both of them push the Peacekeepers out of the way and sandwich me between them, shouting for me to stay. My blond, green-eyed thirteen-year-old brother, Nicodeem, and sister, Noa, are soon with me, sobbing and wailing. They grab around my waist in a choke-hold and shake their heads at me, refusing to let me go.

The thought of what I am getting into overwhelms me and I am tempted to cry with all of them, but I remember that I have to look strong. So I remain passive, as horrible as I feel for doing so, and hiss, "Let go!" at my two older brothers before ruffling the younger two's hair and trying to move forward. Timo and Hallvor have been apprehended by the Peacekeepers, but Nico and Noa still cling to me so that I cannot step forward.

"Quickly, quickly, now!" Adony calls once more. I glare at the stage. _Go to hell, Adony, of course I'm going to be more than thirty seconds getting up there!_ I curse in my head.

"Nico, Noa, stop!" I whisper fiercely at them. Nico is being pulled away by a Peacekeeper, so I try to slide out of Noa's grip. "Noa!" I say firmly, bending down to her level to look in her bright green eyes. I grab her temples and force her to look back at me. "Noa, _let go_ of me now! Now!" I command her. She loosens her grip but has to be carried away by Timo to get away from me as I walk with my head held up high onto the platform.

Soon I am shaking hands with Adony, the mayor of District 6, and our two living victors, Nadette Ferry, who won twenty years ago, and Sergei Enfitch, who won thirty-four years ago, and catching a glimpse of myself on the huge screens. I've never cared much for my looks, but I suppose I _am_ a little thankful my mother wanted to help me get ready today. I am wearing her sister's pretty light green dress and these awful nude heels I had to walk all the way here in and she has put my red curls up into a very loose braided bun, with a few of my wisps in front of my ears framing my face. My eyes are squinted in the bright light, though, and I am covered in a sheen of sweat. It's very warm, not boiling, but I've always sweat more than the average girl, I figure. Let the sponsors line up at my stink.

I am still in a daze when they have called the name of Buckley Hayden, a dark-haired, light-skinned, brown-eyed fourteen-year-old boy that I have seen at school but have never met. He has an older sister that I used to know, but she is too old to take his place, and, I know, too scared to be able to survive the Hunger Games for one minute. She'd probably die during the chariot rides. I only hear her scream, and possibly his mother's, because I know their father is dead from a factory accident that happened years ago. He is the only man in their family, and a child, at that. I clench my jaw right there in the face of the cameras, not caring if people see because they all know how despicable it is, too, when the young ones get picked.

Buckley arrives at the stage, fear evident on his face, and shakes hands with the mayor, Adony, and the victors, and me. I try to communicate my sympathy to him with my eyes somehow as ours are locked on each others for a brief moment, but the Peacekeepers are wasting no time in shoving us inside the Justice Building to say our final goodbyes to our families.


	2. Nauseating Goodbyes

For what feels like several hours I stare in wait out of the grimy window in this room they have locked me inside. My intestines churn nervously and I am afraid they have decided to let me die in here. My throat begins to close and I stand and grip at the window's dusty panes, willing myself to punch it out, shattering the glass with my fist, and run away from here. Would anyone hide me? Or are they too afraid of what would happen to them? I allow the thoughts to consume me in here whereas I would not have anything to do with them out there, where all of Panem will see me weakening myself and think I am too cowardly to fight. I _can_ fight. I know I can. My family knows I can. If only they would let them in here...

Someone out in the hallway has screamed my name out loud. As I turn around to call back, the door has already burst open, slamming the wall in its reach with a loud _thud_, and I am in my inconsolably sobbing mother's arms. Seeing her this way shocks me, for the last time I saw her cry, eight years ago, was when her sister, my aunt, whose clothes I am wearing now, was killed in a factory accident. Back then, I am sure she hid her tears that poured forth freely like those of this moment, only letting us see one or two trickle down her cheek so we wouldn't worry too much. But now her whole body is wracked with sobs. She is hysterical.

How hard this must be for her. She has often told me how I resemble Aunt Zanella, Paisley Rossell Brodsky's best friend in the world, and here I stand before her, wearing Zanella's clothes, looking like Zanella, who has already died, and she is forced to remember her. Only there's another big problem. I am not Zanella. I am Alleyana, her precious daughter that she birthed, raised, and became friends with, and now I am about to die, too. I curl my arms around her neck and stroke the back of her blond head, trying to comfort her, but I know it's useless.

"Mother..." I choke out, tears streaming down my cheeks, as well. "Mother, it's going to be okay. It is. I promise. You'll take care of Noa even more than I have, okay?" I whisper, trying not to let Noa catch what I have said.

For if I die, Noa will be sisterless. She's my friend, my special friend in this family of boys. I braid her hair, make sure she's doing well in school, stand up to the other kids for her when she can't, make sure she's fed, ensure she dreams sweetly, and have fun with her. She is one of the most wonderful friends I have ever had. And I am her friend, too.

And now she runs up to me, squeezing herself between my mother and me, and clamps her arms around my waist, sobbing into my skirt. "_No_, _Alley,_ you can't go! _No, you can't go!_" she says incoherently between her blubbering. I rub circles on her head with my fingers and kneel down to her level to look in her eyes. She sniffs and holds my forearms that continue to massage her head. "Please don't go," she says in a very small voice before continuing to cry.

"Shh, shh..." I say soothingly, clutching her against my chest. Her little arms wind around my back, and I remember that she will need someone to sleep with her at night to keep her secure. The thought makes my eyes prickle with tears, but I cannot cry in front of her. It will break her. I press a kiss to her forehead and look in her eyes. "Noa, I love you. So much. And since I love you, everyone else will, too. Do you understand?" She bites her lip, sniffles, and nods. "Good. You are wonderful, Noa. You are so wonderful. Please, please, _please_ don't forget. Don't, and that's an order." I straighten up and hug her again, and feel her nodding against my stomach. I know she understands. All I can do, though, is hope to goodness she'll always remember.

As she pulls away, Nico shuffles over quietly with his hands shoved into his pockets. As he looks up at me, I see his eyes are rimmed in red, and his face is swollen and pink from tears. I kneel and take his face in my hands, using my thumbs to dry his tears.

"Alley..." he chokes, "I'm sorry, I should've volunteered to take your place...I still can, it's not too late - " he says desperately, but I am overcome with shock at the thought of my thirteen-year-old brother in the arena. Never will I let that happen. I cut him off quickly.

"_No,_ Nicodeem Brodksy, you _won't_. You most certainly _will not_, okay? I won't allow it. You'd die out there in a day, and we both know it. I'll be okay, I promise. Do you understand?"

He's resisting the tears but I can tell it's no use as he nods at me. "Yes, Alley," he stammers as a wail escapes. I fold him as tightly as I can in my arms. Nico only ever cries to me. He doesn't think Noa would understand, that Timo and Hallvor might tease him, and he's too scared to cry around Mother and Father most of the time. So when something really is eating away at him, I let him sit in my lap, using my stomach as his pillow, stroke his blond curls, and sing him a lullaby until he's ready to talk to our parents about it.

I hold him out at arm's length. "Nico, do this for me. I need you to be Noa's very best friend. Stick up for her. Stay by her. And if she has nightmares, you make darn sure she has a peaceful night's sleep from then on. Can you do that for me, Nico?" He swallows a sob, puffs out his chest, stands up straight, like a soldier reporting for duty, and nods.

"Yes," he whispers. I smile sadly at him, pull him in for one last hug, and kiss him on the cheek, whispering "I love you, Nico" into his salty skin. As soon as I straighten up, Hallvor has stumbled into my arms, crying softly.

"Alleyana, _please_ fight as hard as you can. You have no clue how much I wish...wish I could just...I - "

I want to cry. He is saying that he wishes he could take my place, but he is not young enough.

"Shh, Hallvor. Shh," I say as I tighten my grip around him. I force him to look at my eyes and rub my thumbs on his temples. "Hallvor, it is not your fault. Do you hear me? Do you understand? It was _never_ your fault. I'll fight, Hallvor, you know me. You've always known what a temper I've got," I say with a tiny trace of a laugh at the end, remembering how Hallvor was always to one to calm me down after a bad day at school. He chuckles as a tear slips down his cheek and holds my wrists by his head.

"If you find any chairs in the arena, by all means, use them," he teases, remembering how I used to abuse any chairs that stepped in my way to stub my toe when I was younger. In turn, the chair in question once went crashing right into Hallvor as he was walking through the kitchen, leaving him with several cuts and bruises and the wind knocked out of him. I giggle and nuzzle my nose into his shoulder, and it's his turn to caress my ear.

"I love you, Hallvor. Please don't stop joking, ever. You'll make that nice girl you're going to meet someday miserable." He laughs and we embrace tightly. I love that in the last moments we may have together, our relationship is still as it has always been. Comfortable. In these troubling days, this, I feel, is what I will need the most.

I kiss Hallvor's chin as Timo crushes my windpipe in one of his familiar choke-hold hugs. It's usually a competition between us. He hugs me, I try to hug tighter. I never win, but given the circumstances, my grasp around him tightens so that I hear each of his vertebrae crack, one by one.

He jumps. "Ouch!" he yelps through tears. Then he pulls me in again and rests his chin on top of my hair, laughing. "I knew you'd do it someday, kiddo. I love you."

"I love you, too, Timo. You know that really nice girl, Nadia, you've been seeing?"

"Yeah. Why?" I pause and look up at him.

"You could do better." I get a hint of his white teeth as he smiles, chuckling. He leans down to whisper in my ear.

"You know, I've been thinking the same thing, but I wasn't sure if it was just me or not." I jerk backward, surprised, but laugh out loud anyway. The twinkle in his eye says he's half-telling the truth and half-teasing. My big brother Timo made me develop my sarcastic yet bubbly sense of humor. He's the only one in our family who understands my jokes, side comments, and sarcasm. We have had so much fun together over the years. I stand on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek, which has already grown its usual three o'clock shadow.

Like Hallvor, Timo and I don't need to confess anything to one another right now. Our relationship is like an open book. He may have become more of a gruff man over the years, but he's always been my best big brother, my friend. In our last moments together, our interaction can be as it has always been, and we need nothing more. He wraps his arms around me to cut off my air supply once more before letting Father cut in.

We can only stand and stare at one another for several moments. Then, remembering that five minutes might be over soon, my father drags me into his arms with trembling hands. I am the one crying louder this time, although his many tears are wetting the hair at my forehead. He kisses my temple and strokes my hair.

"I am so proud of you, my little Saskya. You are the best Brodsky I have ever known." I latch onto him tighter.

"Saskya" is the name he gave me a few years into my life. It comes from the female name "Saskia," which means "protector of mankind." Father began to pick up on my protective instincts that are so like his, and he always loved that name. When I would come home from a bad day at school, have nightmares, or, especially, not make my goal in his weapon assembly lessons, my brothers would not be the only ones there to comfort me. Father would look me in the eyes and say something like, "I know my little Saskya and she is bigger than a silly little problem (like a mean teacher). She can do anything." Then he would ruffle my hair and kiss me goodnight, and I would sleep knowing that nothing could touch me because my father believed in me.

"I love you so much," I tell him.

He begins to blubber, and the entire family joins us, one last time, because the Peacekeepers are barging in, shouting, "Five minutes is up! You must go!" and ripping them all away from me. I want badly to punch in the mask on the Peacekeeper who closes the door and goes to greet my next visitor.

A few moments later, I am still standing frozen, facing the door, when it opens, causing me to jump, but the only ones who enter are three of my girl friends from school: Reno, Ardia, Haynen. Another person, or two, I think, enters, but I cannot see who it is because my three best girl friends have completely engulfed me with their arms and their quiet tears.

"Win, Brodsky. You have to. You have to come home to us. Please, please win..." Ardia tries to say, gripping my arm tightly.

"Brodsky, please, we..." Reno begins, but doesn't finish, for she starts to sob and crashes her head onto my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her and pat her head with the tips of my fingers.

"Shh," I tell her. My friends have called me Brodsky for as long as I can remember. I always liked my last name so much better than my first, and so that is what I tell people to call me, to this day. Only those in my family ever call me Alleyana.

While she and Haynen cry wordlessly on me, I look up to see that two other good friends of mine, Yorick King and Lakota Panter, both boys in my class at school with whom I have been close for about six years. Both of them are among the strongest boys in the school, and it is a favorite pastime of ours to have me test my strength against theirs, even though I know I will lose. They usually let me win, just for the fun of it.

My eyes drift to Yorick's dark brown ones that are gazing sadly at me, and I can't stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck and resting my head on his chest as the weeping girls let me go. Lakota soon joins us, and I feel their silent tears wetting my brow. I lift their faces up by their chins and wipe the single tears from under their eyes as one falls down my cheekbone.

"Try to win," "I love you," and other mindless sentiments are exchanged between the six of us before the Peacekeepers barge in once more. Before he is dragged away, though, Yorick rips a chain around his neck over his head and presses what dangles on it into my palm as he embraces me and kisses my cheek until he is gone.

I am told to follow the Peacekeepers down the hallways and am loaded into a truck with Buckley, Adony, and our victors. Hardly any more words are said except for Adony's Capitol chatter as Buckley and I take our last looks at our home before we are pushed from the truck into the train station and practically shoved onto one waiting for us.

I know these Capitol trains are nice ones, and as much as I hate the Capitol, I'd love to have a look around. But the day has been draining for me in every aspect, so I ask Adony to show me where I will stay. He seems sympathetic, until I hear his explanation.

"You must have been up so late with excitement, Miss Brodsky! I bet you didn't sleep a wink! No matter, I'll wake you when it's time for dinner. Don't worry, now that you've been selected, you can sleep peacefully!" he chirps and saunters down the hallway.

I stand and stare with my eyebrow raised a moment before following him. How stupid can he possibly be? How idiotic are all these Capitol people to think that the slaying of innocent children is _exciting_? Something to look forward to? How?

Still, I graciously thank Adony when he shows me my room. I am too tired, both emotionally and physically, to observe my surroundings for now, so when the train has finally left behind the farthest edges of District 6, I kick off my heels, lay my aunt's dress across a drawer, and fall into a deep sleep.


	3. Gnawing in the Pit

I wake to Adony's loud knocking on my door and feel a horrible gnawing in the pit of my stomach before I jolt from my sleep onto the floor, startled.

"_Miss Bro-o-o-odsky-y-y!_" he chirps, far too loudly and cheerfully for my liking at the moment. "Wake up, dear, it's time for dinner! We are _waiti-i-ing_!"

Ugh. I roll my eyes and sit up groggily, wiping away at some dried saliva staining my cheek and chin. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. Somehow, my hair all stayed in one place during my slumber, and actually doesn't look that bad. My mother's very good at braiding hair, I knew, but for once, I think I appreciate all the pins and hair-pulling that I have to endure whenever she's fixing it. The gnawing in my stomach becomes stronger as I ache for my home. We would have been having what District 6 citizens call a feast as a celebration that none of our family was reaped today, but I doubt that's happening anymore. They have probably drawn back the shutters and sit around the table in silence, hungry but too sad or shocked to eat.

"Miss Brodsky!" Adony trills once more.

_Oh my stars, SHUT UP. GO AWAY._

"Now, Miss Brodsky, if you are not up in the next ten seconds, I will have to barge in there and make you get up!" he calls, a frustrated edge creeping into his chipper tone. Seeing that I am only in my underclothes, I stagger upward, blacking out from getting up so quickly, and start to yank my aunt's dress back on.

"I'm _coming_, Adony!" I yelp, trying to keep up what politeness I can muster. I'm in enough trouble as it is, and I don't want to get into a squabble with my escort, no matter how annoying I think he is. "I'm up, I'm up!" _No need to get your underwear in a wad_. I pull the dress over my head and zip it back up, smooth my hair, and question going barefoot to dinner before I begrudgingly put my high heels back on. Oh, whatever. If I act like I do this all the time, maybe the Capitol audience and my mentors will go easy on me. _Be nice_, I tell myself. At least this isn't the Career districts where coming off as a nice person gets you absolutely nowhere. If anything, there it pushes you back.

I exit my room and am surprised to find an attendant waiting outside my door, I suppose, to escort me to dinner. What, do these people think I'd get lost on a _train?_ Who does that? Never mind. I suppose it's happened before. The man gives a curt nod and a brief beckoning of a dark hand to show me that I am to follow him. I give a tiny smile and nod politely, and oblige.

When we arrive in the dining car, Adony, Nadette, Sergei, and Buckley are all seated and eating their way through some orange custardy-looking entr_é_e. I slide into a seat next to Buckley after giving a brief "Evening" to everyone and am presented with the same dish. I have to be careful not to plow my way through it, as Buckley is eagerly doing next to me. This is the richest and most flavorful thing I have ever tasted, and I don't want it to all come back up later. I balance it between rolls, some strange kind of vegetable that tastes rather tart, and a bit of meat.

By the time I finish, I notice that Buckley has turned a pale green in his face, and I silently chuckle inside, thinking it's very close to the color of Adony's skin. Instead I try to keep my grin from getting too wide as I pass him some sort of fizzy drink. "I heard the bubbles help to settle your stomach," I whisper to him as Nadette and Adony debate over the necessities of changing one's wig color every so often. Secretly, I hope that Adony will be convinced by Nadette's long, shining black mane that still looks the way it did when she was in the Games all those years ago. Sergei, with his shining bald head that has been that way since before he won his games, apparently, sits quietly, listening both to Adony's attempts to win Nadette over to Capitol fashion and my attempts to ease Buckley's nausea. He shows barely evidents signs of chuckling when Buckley accepts the drink and begins taking slow sips.

Adony excuses himself after a few minutes to powder his face or brush his feather eyelashes, or something. This is when I turn to our two mentors.

"You're going to help us, right?" The two look at each other with what must be pity and then back at the two of us.

"What can you do?" Sergei asks Buckley. He stares at his plate for a moment before mumbling something.

"What?" Nadette asks.

"He's very quick," I tell them promptly. Buckley looks at me, surprised, as do the two adults. I sit up straighter and explain myself. "I've seen him in school. I don't doubt that he is the fastest boy in his classl. He wins all the races." I wonder if my tongue was too quick, but I get a silent thanks from Buckley's eyes as my own look over to meet them. I wrinkle my lips at one end and look at my plate.

"She is fast, too. And strong. She carried both of her younger twin siblings around for years, and she's good at wrestling. She has two older brothers, too, so that must be why. I've also heard she can throw a hard jab," Buckley says.

"Where did you hear that?" I ask. He's telling the truth, but I don't know how he knows.

"Carter Bannerman," he answers. Oh. The realization crosses my face and Buckley grins, sipping his drink again.

"Is it true?" Nadette asks me.

"Yes," I say, gulping down a swig of water. "That Bannerman had it coming all along. Jerk. My brothers taught me what to do if the boys in school ever bothered me."

Nadette and Sergei nod approvingly and seem to evaluate us. "What about with weapons?" Sergei asks.

"I'm pretty familiar with a mallet," Buckley comments. "From building train tracks." The two adults nod and look at me. I am hesitant to speak, so I start with what I know is legal first.

"Well...I know how to use a bow and arrow. Not great with it, but I can. And I can throw knives."

"Show us," Sergei says. I shrug, grab two of the knives from the table, and get up. Before they know it, two knives go whizzing past their faces.

"Look out," I say as one sticks in the wall beside them and one bounces back and lands in my hand, just like I wanted. They almost look shocked.

"Where did you learn that?" Nadette asks. I slink back into my chair.

"A kid at school taught me. I carried a few around with me because there were bullies."

"We can work with that," Sergei says. "Anything more from you two?"

"Brodsky," Buckley says quietly. He is looking at me rather urgently. "Tell them, or I will." How does he know about my gun assembly?

"It's illegal."

"_Tell them_."

"But how did you know?"

"Everyone _knows_, Brodsky. But no one _tells_," he insists.

"Tells what?" Sergei asks, clearly curious. Nadette shares his expression. I sigh heavily.

"I can build a working gun. Any kind. With raw materials. In under five minutes." All three are silent with blank expressions on their faces, dumbfounded. "But I could never use that in the arena. How much trouble would I get District 6 in if all of Panem knew that someone other than a Peacekeeper or District 3 makes firearms?"

"That shouldn't be too much of an issue, Brodsky," Sergei tells me. He pauses. "It's okay for me to call you that, right?"

I nod appreciatively. "It's fine. I ask everyone to call me that. Hardly anyone knew my name was Alleyana until today, anyway."

"Right," he says. "Anyway, District 6 is known for being a mechanically apt district, and even if our Peacekeepers knew you build guns, they wouldn't care as much as they are expected to. Do you know why?" I shake my head. "It is largely because our district is also known for having hard workers who get more than the quota of transportation materials done. The Capitol trusts District 6. Not the kind of trust they have for, say, District 2," he adds, rolling his eyes, "but they know we aren't a very high maintenance district, so they leave us alone. It isn't our Peacekeepers or the Capitol you need to worry about. The only thing you need to think about now is finding all those raw materials you can to make your weapons. Do you understand?"

I do, so I nod. "One more thing," Nadette says. I look at her, ready to comply. "Show me that jab you told us about." Her tone suggests that she is almost amused. I look hesitant. I don't think she knows just how hard I can actually punch.

"I don't know..." I start, "I don't want to hurt you. Did I mention I broke Bannerman's nose?"

"They can fix that in the Capitol real quick." Nadette gets up and crosses to the space behind her, motioning for me to join her. I get up and go over slowly, remembering that Nadette won her Hunger Games by wrestling them in hand-to-hand combat. After that, she strangled them to make their deaths quicker. Suddenly I feel very small, but I pretend she is Timo, who could always recover from a punch from me quickly.

"Okay," I say, standing still a few feet away from her with my arms at my sides. "Come at me, then."

She nods, raises her fists, and strides toward me with quick steps. When she swings her fist, I stop her arm with my hand in a blade, latch onto it, and twist it behind her as my right arm naturally rams my fist in direct contact with her cheekbone and chin.

"Guh!" she grunts and falls down as I draw back with my hands up in defense.

"Ooohh..." I groan at the sight of blood on her cheek. I help her up to her feet and to her chair, then wet a napkin and give it to her to hold to her cheek. "Sorry."

"That's quite all right, Brodsky, it's fine, it's fine. The prep teams will be complaining about this but they can be ignored," she says, laughing and dabbing at the blood.

"Prep teams?" Buckley asks through a mouthful of potatoes. I wrinkle my nose as some of it drops out of his mouth and back on his plate. I'm not one who cares much about Panem manners, but I do think it's a little nasty to let your food fall out after you've chewed it. It _is_ gross, isn't it? I'm not the only one, right? Buckley has noticed my grimace and sheepishly sits up straight and wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I'm only fourteen." I nod and pretend to be understanding.

"Right," I say.

"So the prep teams...oh! They're the ones that make us look like one of them, aren't they?" Buckley guesses as traces of the sickly green shade return to his face. I wonder if it might not actually be from the rich food this time.

"Yeah...well," Sergei says gruffly, getting up from the table and crossing to the door with Nadette in his wake. "Come on, you two. Time to watch the other Reapings." Wordlessly, I follow them, until I glimpse Buckley stuffing one last bite of potato and gulping a drink of water. As he stands and stumbles after the three of us, the product of the two start to leak out of his mouth. Making a face, I thrust a napkin from my end of the table into his face and continue on my way.

Moments later, I am wedged between Adony and Sergei on the couch in front of a TV. These Capitol trains really do have it all, don't they?

I hold my breath as the Reapings begin to play. Disgusted, I watch as District 1 and 2's tributes volunteer at their Reapings and proceed to take their stages with the most arrogance I have ever seen in a human being. It was as if their oversized heads were about to pop at any moment and all their haughtiness would spill out, drown all those Careers present, flood their districts, and then they would have to clean it up all by themselves. Metaphorically speaking, of course, but I don't mind the idea of those Districts being flooded. Oh, how they would scream.

District 1's girl tribute is beautiful, hourglass-figured, blonde, and overly poised and confident. Likewise, her male counterpart's light brown hair and stocky build do not surpass his pompousness as he accepts all the cheering from his peers like a Capitol politician. My dinner is ready to come right back up when the Reapings move on to District 2. The girl is rather petite, dark-haired, and almost cute, but the horrible snarl on her face tells me that she's trouble, and nothing but. However, District 2's mammalian boy tribute, who is blonde, handsome, absolutely _huge_ and buff, is far worse. He accepts his position (for which he volunteered) as though he were a victor already, beating upon his chest with his fists as he steps up on the stage. I can tell from one glance that this guy could snap me in half instantly, and from that evil grin which spreads over his lips, I can estimate that snapping someone in half wouldn't cause him to question his morals at all. This guy is the epitome of the horrible brutality that is the Hunger Games.

Districts 3, 4, and 5 offer the same kind of tributes that they always give, so I tune out until District 6's Reaping comes on. Adony chuckles heartily at me as I lean forward to the edge of my seat as my name is called. I shoot him a beady-eyed glare and turn my attention back to the screen.

I sigh inwardly, relieved that I have managed to appear composed and collected and above everything and everyone that is happening around me. I do not accept the position with pleasure. I do not become hysterical and beg for a volunteer. I am calm, and unafraid. Thank goodness my siblings crushed me so much when I really was afraid I would break down, because they blocked any visible reaction I might have had from the cameras completely. Buckley arrives as though his mind were completely checked out of the current equation, the nudging of the Peacekeepers' gloved hands being the only mechanism moving him forward.

District 7, 8, 9, and 10's tributes are all the same. Around my age or Buckley's, with no evident appearance of advantage. I do happen to notice, though, that the boy from District 10 with dark hair and olive skin has a bad leg, and pity him, secretly.

District 11 shocks me. First, a dark-haired, dark-skinned twelve-year-old girl is picked, and no one volunteers for her. I think of poor Noa when I look at her, only this girl is much younger, and most definitely smaller than Noa. I wonder if, and hope that she will manage to escape the Careers' grasp. I am not worried at all, though, for District 11's dark-skinned boy. He is just as big, maybe bigger, than District 2's tribute, but he only strides up to the stage without congratulations and not wanting any, either, his jaw set in determination in the midday light. I learn that his name is Thresh and the girl's name is Rue as they shake hands. That moment out of District 11's entire roll may very well be the only one in which I detect any emotion at all flickering through Thresh's countenance. He looks disgusted, and sad, when he shakes hands with Rue. I am, too. I am sure many others are, and District 11's citizens look that way, too, because a very young one has been reaped. How can the Capitol not question the morality and the malevolence in doing this to us?

District 12 looks much more interesting than usual...perhaps promising. A blonde, small twelve-year-old girl, like District 11, is reaped, but moments later, an older girl with dark hair and light skin screams for the little girl, is apprehended by Peacekeepers, and cries out her volunteer. Those of us watching, and even the attendants in the room are paying rapt attention to the screen as the girl walks onstage and we learn that the one who was reaped is her younger sister. I catch her name, Katniss Everdeen, and the blonde boy tribute, Peeta Mellark, is reaped and walks in stunned silence to the stage to shake hands with Katniss.

I am still focused on the screen, not hearing an interview with Seneca Crane, this year's Head Gamemaker, until the TV is suddenly switched off. My head snaps up and I lock gazes with Sergei. "It is late. We'll discuss your strategy at breakfast, you two. Go off to bed," he grunts. I nod and oblige.

Minutes later, I have taken a bath, towel-dried my hair, and find some pajamas in one of the drawers in my room. As I slide between my sheets and watch the dark, moving landscape from my window, I grab at my abdomen weakly. Because even after all that delicious and filling Capitol food, the gnawing in my stomach still has refused to subside.


	4. Churning Changes

I had dreams about home last night. I think right after I drifted off to sleep was when I dreamed that I was lying in my mother and father's arms by our fire, late at night in the winter. District 6 is at the very northeast edge of Panem, so our winters are very snowy and very, very cold. But against my strong father and my caring mother I was warming to the core, and she was chafing my tired hands, and he was playing with my hair and calling me "Saskya." Hearing that name of mine makes me feel safe, but not just me, either. I feel like a safe place for anyone, which is what I have always dreamed to be, deep down. No matter what path I choose to make a living, I know I can always live as long as I am taking care of someone.

Hallvor yanks me from the ground at some point in the dream and dances with me, a dance that we learned as thirteen-year-olds in school. At weddings, citizens of District 6 are expected, by tradition, to know how to swing dance. Not many of us protest when we are taught because we end up enjoying ourselves immensely when we have gotten it down. We still do this, all the time, anywhere. The school yard, the family room, the square, at parties. Hallvor is the best dance partner in all of District 6, I believe. We start with the basic swing step, back and forth, and then he twirls our arms around one another in a series of twists and turns until he grasps me from behind and dips me.

I am out of breath, and laughing, just as Timo asks if he can cut in. Timo is not a dancer, though, so when I least expect it, he simply throws me over his shoulder and spins us around until my middle begins to hurt from being crushed against his shoulder blade and from laughing, protesting, and shortness of breath. I try to tickle him from behind, but Timo is not ticklish. It is no use. Instead, I poke him in the armpit and he pretends he is about to drop me. I shriek as he deftly catches me to his chest and cradles me there. My arms wind around his neck as I am laughing and I hang on tight while Timo keeps spinning. He learned how to swing dance, too, but we all know how incredibly clumsy he appears to be when he tries to dance, so he stopped after a while. I think spinning is the only move he is comfortable with.

Now it is my turn to lead the dancing, because Nico taps Timo in the ribs and asks for a turn. Dancing with Nico is difficult because he is only as tall as my nose, but I help him become the most impressive thirteen-year-old dancer in his class. I giggle that all the girls will be flocking to him, and he laughs, but says he can only dance with Noa since I am not there anymore to help her pick a partner. I am about to ask him what he means as he continues the dance with Noa, but Peacekeepers swarm the house and all assemble to drag me outside, while I am protesting, kicking, screaming obscenities at them, and biting the entire way. My family stands in the doorway and stares, guarded by more Peacekeepers as I am tossed onto the snowy ground. A big, black boot rises over my neck and I close my eyes and block it with my arms before I am hit with a blast of warm air and light.

My eyes open and I recognize the surrounding area as an arena I saw in the Hunger Games from when I was twelve, the year I feared the Reaping the most. It is a city, but hardly any of the buildings can be entered. When I sit up, all of this year's Career tributes; Districts 1, 2, and 4, are running after me, taunting me and wielding weapons to kill me with. I get up and run, like in school, and relish in the wind rushing through my hair and skin as I grab onto the nearest window pane and begin to scale the side of the building. The girl from District 1 climbs after me, and I only take one look at her wild, crazed, evil grin to get enough adrenaline to climb three times faster than I had been. I reach the top and stand on the roof, looking around frantically for something to take her down with, and am delighted to find a pistol. I grab it up, load it, and smile to myself as I hold it in both hands and aim for her head over the side of the building, which must be at least sixty feet up. But she is gone.

My arms drop to my sides, and I am confused, but all my senses kick back in when I turn around, and find District 2's brutish blonde boy standing before me with the same devilish smile that was worn by District 1's girl. I fire my pistol at his chest, but nothing comes out. I check that the gun is loaded. I swear, I loaded it. But no bullets are inside. He laughs cruelly as realization crosses my face. What is even worse is that he has my family behind him, with their hands tied behind their backs. I cannot read the expressions on their faces. Is it fear? Helplessness? Apathy? Absence?

The boy growls at me, ready to pounce, and is about to push me over the edge when I wake up to a scream that I recognize as my own. I sit up, sweating, and look around the room frantically for Hallvor to climb into bed with me and sing me to sleep, but I am not at home. I am in a Capitol train car, on the way to my doom in the 74th Hunger Games of Panem.

I know I've been whimpering when I wake up again a few hours later. Adony is knocking on my door again, but this time I have the nerve to yell in a cracking voice that is weak from tears, "Not now, Adony! I'll be there in a little while!" His cheery tone does not waver, despite my angry growl, and he happily reminds me that we have a big day ahead on the train. Since our district is the farthest from the Capitol, it will normally take us another day to get there, but I can already tell from the difficulty with which I grip the bed that our train has sped up a good deal to get us to our prep teams and stylists in time for the opening ceremonies tonight.

I sit up, swing my legs off the bed, and roll my eyes. Great. Absolutely _every_ single soul in Panem gets to critique my appearance and pick apart my entire being as if they think they know who I should be better than I do. Just dandy. I get a step ahead of them by fixing my hair into a favorite braided style I figured out a few years ago. I'm always playing with Noa's hair and devised a new braid after I saw something similar in a girl's hair at school. I let it fall down my back and pick out an outfit from the drawers. Taking my time, I slip on the dark pants and quarter-length-sleeved green tunic, and most gratefully put on some flat shoes instead of my heels that I wore all day yesterday. My feet are still sore as I think about it.

When I arrive in the dinner car, Sergei, Nadette, and Adony are already eating breakfast. I help myself to oatmeal, eggs in a reddish sauce, fruits, and what appears to be shredded potatoes that have been fried in a green sauce. I am given coffee, juice, and milk all at once, and have to rotate which one I drink from. I have never had this much food and drink all to myself before. How is it, then, that the Capitol citizens have so much? Hm. Adony even appears a little overweight to me. I wonder if they ever thought of, oh, I don't know, _sharing_ their food with us, the districts, who need it more? If they want us to get their work done, then they should feed us. I mean, duh?

I don't voice my opinions either, but push the thought away when Nadette and Sergei start to discuss strategy with me. Before I let them begin, though, I look around the car for Buckley.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"Still in bed. Didn't seem to take last night's meal to the stomach too well, that one," Adony sings, rubbing his belly with a wary look at the platters on the table. I wrinkle my nose, and roll my eyes.

"Doesn't surprise me," I say, remembering how he stuffed himself so that the food was literally leaking out of him. "So, anyway, you were saying?" I direct the question to my mentors.

"Right. So, Brodsky, we know you're pretty good with weapons, and fairly experienced with speed and strength. How clever are you?" Nadette asks, slicing through some turkey.

I shrug, unsure of how to answer her. I got good marks when I was in school, but my "cleverness" has never really been put to the test. There are different levels of being clever, though, I suppose.

"What kind of clever do you mean?"

"Let's see...we'll start with people. How well do you communicate with others? How discerning are you of their motives? How do you usually talk with other people?" says Nadette.

I don't know how talking will help me in the arena, but I go with it. She's obviously been in the world of the Games longer and knows more. "I suppose it depends on the kind of person I am talking to. My oldest brother, Timo, for example. We speak very sarcastically to one another because we both understand the jokes we're telling and all of our conversations end up being funny, but only to us. But then, say I'm with my girl friends from school. I talk nicely to them, because they don't usually get my sarcastic humor. As for how well I communicate with others, I could say I'm outgoing. Discerning their motives...I can usually tell by their actions, how they hold themselves, you know, poise, body language, confidence. That stuff."

Nadette nods and shoves a forkful of turkey in her mouth. "Got it. So you're pretty comfortable around people, then? What about difficult people?"

"Like who?"

"That boy whose nose you broke."

"I think you've just answered your own question, Nadette."

"Ah, witty, I see."

"Nah."

"Sassy, too."

"Yep." I get a tiny smile from Nadette, who seems to be much enjoying this conversation. "Look, I've been thinking. If we can get the audience to remember me well..."

"Exactly," Sergei pipes in, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter, "you've hit just the right point, Brodsky. We want you to be remembered, that way, you'll get sponsors, people will be cheering for you, they'll want you to win." As if just now realizing that his fork has loudly fallen onto his plate, Sergei flinches when he sees it lying there and scoops it back up. I ignore his slow reaction and try to tell him how I'm feeling, which has never been something I'm very good at. With my family, okay, I'm fine. I knew what to say when we said goodbye. But with others...I just don't know. My friends burst through the door crying all over me and I didn't know what to tell them. And it wasn't that they were all emotional, either. It didn't make me uncomfortable to the point of speaking. No, it wasn't them at all.

It was me. Because I don't know how I feel about my being in these Games. Do I kill everyone off and come home to face off with a life of guilt for all those lives I took? Do I even have a chance of killing them all and escaping unscathed? Or is it better for me to die this way? And what about Buckley? Shouldn't he be home to support his mother when she is no longer able, instead of just leaving his sister to help her? Or that District 11 girl, Rue. I couldn't kill her. She's way too young. She's practically still a child.

Well, we're all still children, except the eighteen-year-olds, really. I don't still feel like a child, but I view most people younger than me as pure children. That means that the majority of the tributes, who are around fourteen and fifteen years old, will feel like children to me if I ever raise my gun to their heads. I could never do that. Kill a child?

I try to express this to Sergei, but all I can get out is, "Look, though, Sergei, I..." I sigh, defeated, "I don't know if I even _want_ to win, I mean, I'm just...well."

"Don't count yourself out already, Brodsky. Tell me. What do you think of these Games?" he asks, suddenly very serious. I only stare. Can I be open with my opinion of the barbarism and revolting nature of the Hunger Games on this Capitol train? My voice drops many levels in volume.

"I can't say it here, can I, Sergei?"

He stops, looks at Nadette, then me again, and nods. "When we get there," he says quietly.

"Okay, okay," I say quickly, exhaling several times. "Can we start by talking about how I am to appear in the opening ceremonies and figure out everything else along the way?" This is going by too quickly for me. I don't want to think about killings just yet. All I want right now is to figure out a way for the audience to love me. Remember me. Make my death in the next few weeks as comfortable as possible. That sounds like a plan, right?

After about another half hour of conversation, we have something figured out. I am told by Nadette and Sergei that I am already likeable, and good at making friends, and I don't understand this at first, but they tell me it will be much more helpful when it comes time for the interviews. For tonight, it means I am to be the girl that all of the girls in Panem want to be.

"How do I do that?" I ask, thoroughly lost. I have friends, but I was never what one would call popular at school, wasn't I? No one ever said they wanted to be like me...except Noa, which I think is much better than being told that by throngs of other girls.

"Well, for one thing, you're famous now, Brodsky. People like you already. By the way, if you want to get sponsors, you may have to stop asking to be called that," Sergei says suddenly.

"Why?" I ask, feeling a strange sense of dread.

"Call me crazy, but asking to be called 'Brodsky' by an entire nation doesn't display much confidence in your feminity," Nadette says quietly. I draw back, feeling that my privacy has been invaded, when she speaks up again, "Now, I'm not saying that you're not confident, Brodsky. Don't get me wrong. That's not the case at all when you're at home, I'm sure. But in the Capitol, in front of the entire nation, we want you to appear confident. Not Career confident, by any means, but confident enough. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Okay, then," Nadette continues, "We're calling you 'Alleyana' now, okay?"

"Wait," I say, "Father had another name for me, too. 'Saskya.'"

"'Saskya?'" Sergei says, mulling over the name in his head for a few moments. He grins at Nadette. "I like it. Sounds feminine, but strong, too. We'll tell them to call you that. Actually, no. Tell them your new name at the interview."

"Them?"

"The commentators and interviewers, of course," he says, adding a bit of an eye roll at the end that makes me grin. It seems that Sergei and I understand each other well, then.

"Okay. 'Saskya' means 'protector of mankind.' I've always liked it better than my real name, but I'm not sure why. I guess I just like the way it sounds," I tell them, sawing through a slice of ham. After swallowing it, I direct the conversation back to the opening ceremonies. "So, now my name is Alleyana. Until I tell them it's actually Saskya. Right?" Nadette nods.

"Right. Now, which former Games competitor or victor can you think of that you've admired?"

I think for a moment. Not any of the Careers in any of my years of watching the Hunger Games, for certain. All too proud. I rake through my memories of the other districts, and one girl immediately stands out. Cassie Georgette. She was from District 9, whose industry is grain. She was the last tribute to die in her Games several years ago, and the reason she had done so well was not only because of the sickle she used to defend herself and kill attackers, but because she had great sponsors. Being from District 9, she didn't seem all that promising when she was reaped, I remember. She was beautiful, but not sexy and with luster like the girl from District 1 this year.

She was pure and innocent, and her stylist certainly helped to get attention from the start by dressing her in things that absolutely _stunned_ all the viewers. She never looked ordinary, nor too extravagant. Somehow, her greatest physical _and_ personal attributes were highlighted in every outfit she wore up to the day she had to go into the Arena. Distinctly, I and everyone else who talked about her remembers her eyes and arms. About her eyes, people would say that they were the most beautiful color and several of the girls in my class at school were making it their life's ambition to somehow get those special eye-color-changing lenses from the Capitol, because they were being manufactured exactly in Cassie's eye color, a breathtaking hazel that looked very gold up close on the cameras.

And her arms...well, I first thought it was strange for people to notice, but folks always said that Cassie Georgette's arms would always be open to anyone who was in need. I think it was her personality that gave them that impression. The way she stood tall and, well, _confident_. The way she spoke with an air of understanding and made eye contact with whomever she spoke to. How sweet and in control and so like a protector or a mother she seemed. People loved her. People went absolutely wild over her. _People wanted to be her._

She could have won her Games, but she died sacrificing herself for her ally, who was killed before her anyway. That year, a brutish snake of a District 1 boy, sort of like the one from District 2 this year, savagely murdered her after killing her ally, her friend, and forcing her to watch. I'll never forget how my friends and I cried more for her than for our own tributes that year as we watched the boy cruelly slice her in several places agonizingly before breaking her neck. I think we hated him more than we have any of the Careers we have seen or heard of. Unfortunately for him and his precious district, he died of an overdose of something I can't recall.

"Anyone in mind?" Nadette asks again. As if coming out of a trance, I nod rapidly and tell her.

"Excellent choice and observance. I was already thinking that you remind me of her, Alleyana," she says.

"She'll do," Sergei gruffly agrees. I'm not sure if he's talking about me or about Cassie, but I shrug and brush it off.

"Still, you need to be yourself. The Capitol doesn't like having tributes that exactly resemble dead favorites, if you know what I mean," Nadette continues. I nod, understanding exactly what she means. They'd much rather the focus be on the Hunger Games themselves, rather than having the citizens be reminded of their deceased favorite tributes.

_Of course they don't want their glorious Hunger Games thunder stolen, _I think spitefully, but I bite my tongue and gulp, "Right."

"Right," Sergei refutes, "how are you different from her, then?"

What? Well, for starters, I'm not as pretty as her, nor am I as kind as she is, or as confident, but I don't tell my mentors this. I can pretend, can't I? Instead, I think about the highlights on Cassie. As far as the rest of the world knew, she didn't have much of a family except her mother and father. That's something different about us, isn't it? A sob story about how my family of seven misses me as much as I miss them?

But, then again, how many of those have there been? Too many to count. Okay, so there have been many families split because of these Games. But how about families with bonds as strong as mine hold? Families who have fun together and love on each other? Families who eat together, stay together, top the district's dances together? I shudder as I recall the nightmare from last night, but am momentarily comforted by its sweet beginning. Wait a minute...that's it!

I can comfort the audience. I can charm them. I can use a trick on them that will make them love me.

"I can dance," I blurt out suddenly.

Nadette and Sergei look very taken aback, almost confused. I wonder if I shouldn't have said that, but I keep talking.

"I can, really. You both know the dances we learn in school, right?" They nod. "My brother, Hallvor, and I kept learning even more of them. I can dance with those shoes that have the metal taps on them, I can partner dance, I...that probably sounds foolish, but tell me, do the Capitol citizens enjoy dancing, watching dancing, either of the two?"

Comprehension makes an appearance in their expressions. I can see the idea begin to click. "Ah, that's good, Brodsky, I like your thinking. If you have Georgette's personality, and if you dance at the interviews, you'll have the audiences eating right out of your hands. That is, if you're any good," Sergei says. I can see the traces of a challenge crossing his face. I raise an eyebrow and put down my fork.

"Shall we?" I ask. He nods and gets up from the table, and I follow. We cross to the emptier space of the room, Nadette watching us with delighted eyes.

"Pretzel. Chicken wing. Armbreaker. Begin," I say, taking both of his hands as we start the basic swing step. Soon we lead each other in the twists and turns and dips that is the pretzel without fault, then I show off my ability as the following partner while he attempts the chicken wing rather clumsily, and finally, it's my turn to shine with the armbreaker and the dip that ends it before I spin back out again and stop on my heel as Sergei lets go of my hand. Nadette claps.

"Not bad at all, Brodsky. Just show us everything else when we coach you for the interviews later this week. I think the audience will find your character most interesting," Sergei admits. I grin, pleased with myself. "So, here's what you do tonight. I'll let you go after this, but listen up. Obey your prep team."

I nod, cringing on the inside. Who knows what gaggle of Capitol shallows I will get? But I don't question Sergei. He's been through this for a while, so I trust him to know what he's doing.

"Second, be nice to your stylist," Nadette says, standing up and joining us. "They have so much influence, so you'd better be nice. Tonight's impression is the first, so it's everything, unfortunately." I sigh, nodding. First impressions can be tough, and, unfortunately, very critical.

"Third. Think Cassie Georgette while you're in the chariot tonight. Save your individuality for the interview. Stand tall, proud enough. Don't act above them, even if they are goofy Capitol citizens. Got it?" Sergei drills. I nod. Surely, I can do that.

"Last," Nadette says, "get some rest. We'll be at the Capitol in a few short hours and you'll need to look fresh when you enter. The cameras start off right away and they don't care for tributes who snap at them from being too tired. Besides, you probably won't get to bed until after midnight tonight. Go sleep until Adony wakes you." I nod, give a small salute, and turn to go back to my car.

Buckley stumbles through the door sleepily, looking rather pale. "Whoa. What happened to you?" I say, feeling the urge to smirk. Somehow, I manage to keep my expression straight, but interest gets the upper hand. Buckley cringes and holds his stomach.

"Eat too much last night?" Nadette guesses. Buckley looks as if he's going to be sick again and nods. Sergei grins for the first time since we boarded the train and chuckles as he claps Buckley on the shoulder and shakes him firmly.

"Ah, I remember my first night on a Capitol train. Takes some getting used to, that's for sure. Better watch out, though. I nearly lost all of my dinner all over my stylist," he says to Buckley. Buckley looks shocked. His eyes grow wider when Sergei continues, "I think you'd better be more careful. You look way worse than I did." Sergei back down at the table with a grin and calls for an attendant to bring something to settle Buckley's stomach. I cross my arms and shrug.

"Now, Buckley, don't you worry about a thing," I say with a sweet smile. "It could be worse, you know. You could upchuck your whole stomach right in the middle of the opening ceremony for all we know!" I pat him fixedly on the cheek twice and leave the dining car, not stopping to see his reaction. I can already picture the color draining from his face more than it has at the moment.

Obeying Nadette's request that I get more rest, I go back to my room and slip beneath the covers for some peaceful sleep free of twisting nightmares. Before I drift off, however, I notice something silver and shiny on the floor. I spring out of bed and encase it in my fist when I recognize it as the chain that Yorick wore around his neck and gave to me before he was dragged from the Justice Building by the Peacekeepers when we said goodbye. It is still warm in my palm when my eyelids shut, too heavy for me to keep them open.


End file.
